


Riposte

by Starcrossedsky



Series: Bladework [8]
Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ion has a Time, Ion is a badass, Other, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky
Summary: A windfall gives Van what he believes to be the answer to his problem of controlling Asch - but Ion is no longer a simple puppet. To persevere as long as possible is the Fon Master's resolve, and no amount of revelations will challenge that.





	Riposte

**Author's Note:**

> "hey Nai I thought you were going to post this like a year ago" so did I, man, so did I. That didn't happen and this thing in fact went untouched for six months before i suddenly banged out the last ~4K in a day. It's a long and fraught with ~mental health~ story so I won't get into it here.
> 
> A major part of it is that Riposte is... _dark_. Please mind that 'Psychological Torture' tag - more specifically, isolation and Abuse of Curse Slots As a Torture Technique.
> 
> Anyway, here's Ion's Big Adventure, please enjoy it.

The Zao Ruins are silent, dark, and unsettling. For the first time in your life, you begin to have an appreciation for the word "eerie."

Unlike at Shurrey Hill, where the Sephiroth entrance was protected by only a handful of barrier stones, the seal within the Zao Ruins is deep within the remains of the city itself. Like Hod and Akzeriuth, the city was built directly on top of it; once, you're vaguely aware, these empty stone streets had been bustling, before the savanna around the city became so much endless sand, forcing the people to retreat to Chesedonia.

Now, it's primarily the domain of bats, odd slimes, and half-broken protective golems.

Truth be told, as much as you appreciate Sync and Largo clearing them from your path, you think the bats would be better company.

You never thought that you would have minded the silence before. In Daath, silence meant fewer demands on your attention, a much-needed break from playing the role of Fon Master. In Daath, _everyone_ wanted your attention.

It had been so strange, on the road in Malkuth, to discover that the rest of the world didn't work that way. For the first time, you had the experience of casual interaction that didn't _need_ your constant attention. Your companions always had something to say - Luke and Anise especially - but it didn't require any particular attention from you.

And if you had something you wanted to say, they listened to you like a normal person, not with the gravity that comes with being the Fon Master. Asch has never had that particular seriousness towards you the same way the rest of Daath does (probably because he isn't particularly pious, if you're being honest); Anise does, but she also tends to regard you as someone likely to trip over the end of your own robes if you aren't watched. Throw in Luke's complete lack of awareness of status, and Jade's complete disregard for it...

It was _nice_. To just be Ion, instead of the Fon Master. An experience you didn't understand until it was gone - isn't that what they say of all the best things in life? That you don't know how good they are until they're over?

Regardless, your current set of companions - if they can even be called that - also don't treat you as the Fon Master, but for a very different set of reasons. Save Arietta - whom you haven't seen, and you have the feeling your presence on the ship is being kept hidden from her - all of the God-Generals are aware of your status as a replica.

Though Largo and Legretta are not openly resentful like Sync, they don't treat you with any regard for the authority you normally wield, either. You're a means to an end, a particular tool for a particular job, and that's it.

It is not a pleasant feeling. Still, you persevere. For the sake of those friends who _do_ see you as a person...

The sound of a collapsing section of the ruins breaks you out of your reverie, and you flinch. Sync, closer to the falling stones and not at all bothered, snickers at you. 

"Scared?" he asks, and you hear everything unsaid in the tone - _coward, weakling_ \- as though he'd said it aloud. Brushing off the bottoms of your robes, you don't dignify his question with a reply.

Instead you put on the face you use for serious matters and stride past him, letting yourself have the illusion of being in the lead for a moment. If nothing else, you can still hold your head high.

Truly, there _is_ nothing else. If Shurrey Hill was any indication, then the major reason Largo is along is in case you need to be carried back to the ship. Sync is doing the majority of the fighting, since Largo is still recovering from the gut wound Jade gave him back on the Tartarus. He’s well enough to move, but not for extended combat.

And you? Well, you already feel exhaustion getting _down_ here, and you haven't even performed the arte yet. As a result, the next swarm of bats sends you to the back again, within reach of Largo's blade, to watch as Sync efficiently eliminates them all on his own.

This can only be envy, because what was only a tickle of powerless _wanting_ when you watched your friends fight is so much greater watching him. It is worse because you know what he is, know that in almost every way you are identical; in this, in one of the few things that _matters_ , you are as harshly separated as the desert and the sea.

That you can perform the Daathic artes he cannot is only the slightest balm to your impotent feelings. When you first realized that the two of you were both replicas of the original Ion, you had had the vague thought of kinship - 

You can understand, somewhat, why Sync wouldn't be interested in that. You did not expect that you, in turn, would resent him so _badly_.

You wonder if it's because he's, on some level, right. Because you really are a powerless failure, and watching him fight just throws it back in your face. The two of you are truly unfortunate mirrors, each having what the other wants most - you, a purpose and place in the world, and he, the strength to protect that place.

You can imagine what Asch would say, if he heard what you're thinking - 

_If you don't like it, work to change it._

If only you knew how!

\----

Finally, the deepest part of the ruins. You ascend the low, sandy steps to the glow of the doorway. The seal is unchanged for the last two thousand years, since Yulia herself put it in place.

Or at least that's what the knowledge programmed into you along with the arte says. In truth, who knows? Time with Asch and Jade has left you with the bad habit of questioning such things.

(They'd no doubt call it a good habit. The thought gives you the whisper of a smile that you don't show on your face.)

The wall of the seal hums beneath your fingers. Experimentally, you push on it - there's a little give, smooth and warm in a way that you don't have a comparison for, and then a hard stop. You don't expend your meager strength testing it; you're satisfied that it has held.

Nothing to do but take it down, then.

The arte is embedded somewhere deep in your consciousness, well below the level of things you've actually _learned_. As a result, you don't entirely understand the power you call up to perform it. Embarrassing as it is to admit, the lectures Jade gave Luke on your journey about how to effectively use fonons were helpful to you, too.

You have a _slightly_ better idea now of what you're doing than you did at Shurrey Hill, at least. You can pick the various kinds of fonons apart as they trickle, and then stream, through your hands - Seventh, almost all Seventh, warm and familiar and sticking to you like sun-warm spiderwebs. The high vibration of the Sixth and the low rumble of the Second, woven together into an array in front of you, forming the power of the barrier, with the Seventh networked between them, holding them together.

You understand it now a little better, and you understand why the arte to _dispel_ the seal is utterly different from the arte used to create it, or at least, you think you do. Creating it would have been arranging that array, making it solid.

Dispelling it is simply a matter of having the right key, knowing the right places to _pull_ on that network of the Seventh, and watching it come apart.

It still takes all the energy out of you, when it's done. You sway and rest a hand against the frame of the opening as the barrier fades away in progressive pieces. The hooks and keys of the arte used to pull it apart are gone from your consciousness, again, safely lodged back among the other artes programmed into you until the next time you need them.

You wonder how long that will be. Surely not very. Of late you have only seen Van with the facade of mentor that he wears around Luke, but you are all too aware of his reputation as ruthless in efficiency towards his officers. More to the point, you've seen its effects in Asch, in Tear, in Sync. Even if you hadn't already known the truth, a part of you would have, you think, been suspicious regarding just how _much_ leeway he gives Luke when he doesn't give it to anyone else.

Speaking of Sync and ruthless efficiency, he's already turned away from the unsealed Sephiroth and is walking away. Largo, at least, has waited for you to regain your bearings, and for that you give him a small smile that isn't completely empty. 

"I'd like to walk for a bit," you say to him, "if I can."

He looks you over, then slowly nods. "As long as you aren't holding us up."

You nod in return and push off from the wall you were supporting yourself on - you know that you won't be able to complete the return to the surface without a rest, and that Sync's unlikely to stop, but at least you can walk and think for a while longer. Thinking while someone else is carrying you is hard; no matter what, your body wants to move, even when you're exhausted like this.

The second of seven, done; the Radiation and Absorption Gates don't possess seals, and Hod of course is lost. With the miasma, Akzeriuth is likely inaccessible as well, at least for the time being, though you cannot help but darkly turn over the thought that they may just leave it for last, so that if you expire down there, the rest of the job is already done. 

Of the remainder, Tataroo Valley is the nearest, not far from Chesedonia on the other side; you imagine that one will be next. After that... Daath's own Sephiroth, stowed deep within Mount Zaleho, is the only one that's anything like accessible. The Meggiora Highlands hold one within their unmapped reaches, and that will take time to locate. Mount Roneal's would be straightforward if not for the approaching summer; ironically, the melt makes the journey more perilous than the winter cold, or so you've heard.

It still will not take long, especially like this. You still don't know _why_ Van wants the Sephiroth opened; he hasn't even been present yet at one to give you an idea. You don't like it, this opening the door and leaving. Anyone or any _thing_ could get into them behind you, not just Van.

For all your circling thoughts, you are no closer to a solution when your legs finally won't bear your weight any further. You allow Largo to carry you the rest of the way back to the ship in uncompanionable silence, and the motion of the walk sends you into a vague, half-asleep daze until the blast of bright sunlight at the entrance leaves you squinting.

The only even semi-coherent thing you remember is thinking of smaller, friendlier shoulders, and red hair windblown in your face.

\----

When you return to the ship, you're led to a different cell from the one before. This one is closer to the engines - you can tell not only by the increase in the ship's rumbling, but by the faint smell of oil and combustion in the hallway.

Your new cell is smaller; it appears to be a converted engineer's barracks, because there's still the double bunk, but there is not much room for anything besides that. A crammed set of table and chairs is tucked against the far wall, nearly against the privy.

There are no windows. There's just one dim light in the ceiling.

With a sigh, you drape yourself into the lower bunk anyway, and drift nearly off to sleep - only to be startled back to full wakefulness when the ship begins to move. The previously dull vibration of the engines becomes a true roar, making you panic for a moment before you remember where you are.

Getting to sleep again takes far too much time, after that.

\----

You wake... sometime, probably after many hours. The engines are still going, or maybe have stopped and started again for all you know. It's hard to get any idea of how long you were asleep, both because of the lack of daylight and the total exhaustion that overtook you.

Someone must have come in while you were asleep, because there's a tray of food and a pitcher of water set up on the table that you're _reasonably_ sure weren't there when you came in. You could easily be wrong, though, considering that it's already gone cold.

It doesn't really matter. You sit down to eat it anyway, because even if it's kind of terrible ship rations it's _something_ , and now that you no longer feel like sleeping for a week you feel like eating for three people. You eat every last bite of bread, meat, and dried fruit, and wish for more.

Still, it leaves you clearheaded enough to get up and move for a while. You almost don't bother checking the door, but somehow the idea of apathetically waiting bothers you. Even if you _agreed_ to be here, you - 

You don't want to go back to being an easily led puppet ever again. So you check the door, mostly for yourself instead of out of any belief that it might be unlocked.

Predictably, it doesn't budge. There's a round window in the top of it - you have to stand on your toes, leaning against the door, to reach, but all you can see through it is blackness. Someone must have covered it over from the other side.

You check over the rest of the room, leaving nothing unturned, even if lifting your mattress enough to peek under it is enough to leave you shaking with effort. At least it has sheets, thin blankets, and something resembling a pillow - when you climb up to look at the top bunk, there's nothing there but bare mattress. You slide back down the ladder and wobble a little back on your feet.

Surely you shouldn't be that tired again already?

You force yourself through an inspection and use of the privy, anyway, splashing cool water in your face, but it doesn't do much good. Admitting defeat, you drowsily climb back into the bunk, pulling the blankets around yourself and drifting off in hardly any time at all.

\----

Another... day or two, probably, from the quantity of meals you get, passes like that. By now, you're certain that something is wrong. Even with the use of a Daathic arte, the long walk into the ruins, and the... the feeling of a tired hole in your heart that won't go away, you should have recovered by now.

(Perhaps not your heart. But the rest of you, surely.)

The most logical solution is that either your food or your water is drugged, and given that you have access to the ship's plumbing, it's probably the food. Unfortunately, you don't have any idea where to begin with trying to figure out where the drugs might be - you have some vague idea that most medicines are bitter, but that's not a lot of help.

And fasting to avoid it... seems rather pointless, all things considered, when either way you'll be weak and fairly useless. At least like this, you're not weak, useless, _and_ hungry.

You make an effort to try to stay awake as long as you can anyway, putting off eating after you get up and fighting the fog by pacing, and it's during one of these sessions that the sound of the engines - a constant since you were locked in the room - finally dies.

It's almost too quiet, in the absence. Fortunately, you aren't given much time to dwell on it - without so much as a knock, the door unlocks and swings open.

Sync steps in, flanked by two guards - and stops. There's no way to see the expression on his face, but if you had to guess by the way his body goes still, you'd say he's surprised. 

"You're awake," he says, voice monotone but still pitched a little deeper than yours in a way that he must have intentionally cultivated. You can't tell if it's an intentional monotone or a failure to express emotion, though. "Good, that makes this easier."

You stretch yourself up and keep your shoulders loose but not drooping - even if you're still tired and your thoughts won't behave, you have _looking_ like you know what you're doing programmed into you, so you may as well make use of it. Also, the fact that that two of you are the same height - though Sync's bootheels put him slightly higher - means that your attempts at looking authoritative aren't ruined by having to look _up_ at him.

You wish you could ask Asch how he manages that way of looking down his nose he has. There's something about the way he tilts his head back - 

It's not important now. Even if you knew, it's probably the sort of thing that would take time you don't have to master.

"We've arrived at the next Sephiroth, then," you say, not bothering to put inflection into your voice if he isn't going to. Also, it requires more energy than you feel like sparing, if you're right.

"We have," Sync replies, and his voice is back to its usual sneer. "And Arietta's occupied, so get moving."

You only barely nod, and follow the two guards out of the room. It occurs to you to wonder why it is that Sync is so intent on avoiding Arietta - 

Then again, given the feelings she's always made known about you pushing yourself, perhaps it's not so mysterious, after all. She's always been even more forceful than Anise in that regard.

Still, it seems odd. They didn't exactly care about her knowing at Shurrey Hill. Something about it seems off, but no matter how you turn it over as you walk, your exhaustion-and-drug-fogged mind can't figure out exactly what.

\----

After so long in the bowels of the ship, the sunlight outside is almost unbearably bright. Truthfully, with how blind you are initially, you think even moonlight would have been too bright.

Willing yourself to focus, you walk down the ship's ramp with squinting eyes. Largo is there again, a black shape against the green, and - what on Auldrant is _that_ thing?

"Behold," comes a dramatic voice, heavy with Keterburg accent, as a familiar armchair descends from on high to rest on top of the... Vehicle, you suppose you'll have to call it. It looks mostly like some kind of mechanical insect, with a platform for a body. Dist spins his chair to face in your direction and spreads his arms wide. "My greatest creation yet!"

You behold.

That is, you pointedly look yourself over, and then, for good measure, turn back up towards the top of the ramp and give Sync a good eyeballing, too.

"I don't see anything different from the usual, myself," you say, turning back in Dist's direction and forcing your face into an expression of faint puzzlement. "Though I suppose I could do with a haircut."

Behind you, Sync makes a strangled choking noise that you think is an attempt at stopping a snicker once he became conscious of who he was laughing at. Largo's eyes get slightly wide, and there's something almost like a smile on his face.

Dist freezes for a moment, before his hands drop and he starts to absolutely _quiver_ with rage. You sweep past with all the dignity you can call up from your exhausted bones and board the machine, pulling yourself up the ladder and taking a seat at the edge of the platform, well away from the controls. You tuck your feet under yourself, keeping them out of the way of any moving parts, and wait.

Sync jumps up after you and stands on the far side, facing away. Well, let him be resentful, then. With a final _hmph_ , Dist's chair descends and hitches into place on the platform and his thin hands bring the machine to life.

It's a rough, bumpy ride, even if the insect-like movements of the machine clear over the hilly terrain at a quick pace. You think that being thrown over Largo's shoulder was more comfortable.

\----

The sound of the machine at least scares off most of the wildlife, dangerous or not, though it leaves a trail of trampled plants and other destruction in its wake. It's a good thing, you suppose, that they're not trying to be _secretive_ about being here, because you know that anyone looking would see obvious signs of the machine's passage.

Even Luke would be able to tell, and he's the furthest thing from a woodsman. You smooth your hand down your robes after the next bump, and amuse yourself imagining what he'd have to say about your ride. Inside your head, no one will stare resentfully at you because they didn't think of the comments first.

Eventually, the machine shudders to a stop and Dist powers it down, lowering the platform enough that you can make use of the ladder. You do; your knees are still a bit sore from your jump off the Tartarus' loading ramp, and you're not keen on making such a jump again.

As though he knows what you're thinking, Sync jumps down and lands effortlessly beside you. 

"This way," he says, heading off towards the base of one of the cliffs. Even though he didn't touch you, you feel as though he grabbed your arm to pull, and follow as if dragged along. The exhaustion makes you stumble, but you shake it off and make your way across the loose stones to the seal. Sync stands beside it, arms crossed, waiting.

Accessing the arte programmed into you is in some ways easier, because you know what part of your mind to pull from, now. But at the same time, it's far, far more difficult, when you can barely stay on your feet as it is. The fonons flow through you, and you think that flow is the only reason you stay standing as long as you do.

Because once it's done, and you're watching the glow of the seal fade away before your eyes, everything else fades away, too. You lose control of your legs and start to fall, and have only the vaguest awareness of someone's gloved hands catching you before everything is gone.

\----

When you wake, you're on the ship again, and the engines are already running. You sit up groggily, trying to replay the last few things you remember in your mind. You remember opening the seal, and...

Sync must have been the one who caught you. Dist wouldn't have been close enough, and Largo remained behind at the ship... Twisting, you compare the size of your own hands to where you remember being touched as you blacked out, and it's a near enough match.

So that's that, then. You feel the edges of some emotion but dismiss it. Some people you can count on not to behave out of sentiment, and Sync is one of those. You shouldn't hold any soft sentiments towards him, either.

But it's hard. You wish you knew more of the circumstances that allowed him to survive whatever happened to the other failed replicas. At the same time, you know better than to ask.

Abruptly the ship rattles, and the sound of the engine changes. There's a single sharp bounce, which sends you scrambling for the water pitcher on the table with surprising energy before it falls over. Another follows a moment later, almost knocking you off your feet, pitcher and all. The sound of the engines change again, a low gurgling added to the background noise of your cell, and then...

Nothing happens. You sigh to yourself and replace the pitcher where it belongs on the table. The ship must have taken to the sea, then. Not terribly surprising; you knew it would have to soon or later, now that every Sephiroth it could reach overland has been opened. 

Which will be next? Meggiora? Daath? Maybe Meggiora. A long journey, from here, around the southern tip of Rugnica, but the journey to Daath would be even longer.

Unless, of course, you were out longer than you thought, long enough that the ship could cross back to the Chesedonia side of the mountains and take to the sea in that direction. The possibility gnaws unexpectedly at you.

Realistically, you have no idea where you are, or even what day it is. You can only guess and estimate. It's more unsettling than you would have thought it to be.

You breathe deep, and seat yourself at the small table, picking at sandwiches and fruit that are no doubt drugged again. You'll hold together somehow - you have to. 

The longer you can persist, the more time you give your friends to fight back. That's all you can do now.

You finish the sandwich and sit back in the bed, waiting for the exhaustion to hit the way it has the last several times you ate anything. Amazingly, it doesn't. You are still tired, but not in danger of closing your eyes and slipping under, for the time being.

You don't have long to marvel at this, however, as the sound of footsteps outside your cell catches your attention - or rather, the way those footsteps come to a stop outside your door, instead of continuing on to the engine room or on patrol. You sit up, and manage to straighten yourself into something vaguely dignified while whoever is outside fiddles with the lock.

Then the door swings open, revealing your visitors, and you frown before you're even aware of it. "I can't say I expected to see you any time soon, Commandant," you say. Something in your own voice, something you didn't intend to put in there, reminds you of barely-veiled anger. Are you angry? You don't know if you could tell. "I would have expected you to be well on your way to Akzeriuth by now."

This time, there is no pleasant mentor's smile in place; Van walks into the room without any pretense. Sync slips in behind him and closes the door, keeping the guards out of the conversation.

So that's how it is, then. Everyone in the room knows what you truly are, and you can't imagine that that won't have an impact on the conversation. 

If Van expects you to bow your head because of it, then he's got another thing coming. He watches you for a moment, his face about as expressive as the walls. "There's no point in going to Akzeriuth right now," he says. "Not without Luke."

"Or Asch," you observe. "Not that you intend to risk him." Something grabs at your heart, squeezes words past your throat. "Do you really think that originals are so much better than us?"

A flick of your gaze behind Van includes Sync, who leans against the wall next to the door without saying anything. You can feel the pressure of a glare through his mask.

Van frowns. "I take it he told you everything, then."

"Why wouldn't he?" you say, trying to go back to the tonelessness your voice should have. You don't _want_ to show him that you're angry, that you - 

That you care, in spite of the distance Asch put between you. You don't want to be a weapon used against him.

(Probably, it's already too late for that.)

You take a breath. "I don't know why you think you have any chance at getting him back," you say. "Asch will never cooperate with you again. He only did so in the first place because he thought he had no other options."

"There are still no other options," Van says. "Asch will come to realize that in time. The Score cannot be averted, only pushed to the side and delayed. _You_ ought to know this."

"Because of my original?" You think of what Jade told you, and your face goes from vaguely frowning to truly blank. "My original, who died after weakening himself with fomicry because the Score said he would die? He might have lived, if he hadn't spent so much life force creating us."

Might. He might not have. The possibility exists, you can't deny it, but as things stand now, you find his fate to be all too self-fulfilling.

Van stares down at you. "Mohs allowed you too much freedom," he says.

You find it in yourself to smile. "Mohs couldn't control Asch any more than you can." Less, in fact. Asch has never feared Mohs, not the way he fears Van. No chance that you'll reveal his weaknesses to his enemies, though.

Van sweeps his gaze away from you, turning to walk over and stare at the wall on the far side of the cell. It would have been a far more impressive tactic if there was anything but blank metal there for him to stare at. "You don't believe he intends to rescue you, then?" His voice sounds amused.

Your smile remains. "Not a chance. He understood what I was doing."

The amusement turns into a sneer. "Typical replica. You place no value on your own life. The fact that you've chosen a poor master does not make you any less a tool."

Instead of answering, you watch Sync for a reaction to the words. Unfortunately, like you, he knows all too well how to slip into the mask of a blank face and empty body posture. You think - you wonder what it would be like, if he had someone to tell him what a lie that is. Someone who valued him as more than a tool.

It's a painful wondering, and you think to yourself, _Ah, so this is pity._

Van turns around. In his eyes, you see the glitter of something terrible.

"Tools can always be put to a new purpose," he says. "I may not be able to convince Asch of the rightness of our cause - but _you_ can."

He nods to to Sync, who crosses the room in a single swift motion, and then - a slash, into your shoulder, and you know that glyph even if you have never seen it before, know it like every other Daathic arte - 

Then a blow to your head puts you out again.

\----

When you come around again, your head and shoulder both still sting, and the room is empty. Shuddering, you sit up, and ignore the pounding of your head to start undoing your robes.

You slide them slowly from your shoulders, turning your head to see as best you can without a mirror, and wince. As you'd thought - the angry red lines of a curse slot glyph.

_I hadn't thought Sync would have enough control over the Seventh to use it. Not if he can't open the seals._

Apparently you were wrong. You pull the robes back up over your shoulders. There's a small slit over the glyph, but it doesn't reveal anything.

You could remove it - but like any other Daathic arte, it would cost you a great deal of your strength. And then Sync could just as easily replace it - from what you can recall, the arte didn't exhaust him the way it will you. If only the gap in your stamina wasn't quite so wide...

Someone has left you a new tray of food. Now that you know that Van intended to pay you a _cordial visit_ , it makes sense why your last meal wasn't heavy with drugs. You glare at the tray, making it a point to refuse it for as long as you can stand.

The problem, still, is that there's nothing else in the room to do. You wash yourself in the meager shower and dress again, and by then you're not only faced with the prospect of boredom, but hunger as well.

Very well. If you're going to immediately fall asleep anyway, you're at least not going to make things _easy_ for Van. The curse slot is more effective the longer it sits, anyway; forcing Sync to apply it fresh every time will minimize the amount it can be used against you.

You eat, and in the time between the food settling in your stomach and the drugs coating fog over your mind, you tap into the knowledge programmed into you and dispel the glyph. Only the red mark of the painful angry slash remains, unearthed from beneath the complex design.

Then you yawn and curl up under the meager blankets, letting sleep overtake you once more.

\----

You're awakened roughly by someone hauling on your shoulders. You groan and push the hands off to sit up. You're not so out of it that you can't do that on your own. 

"Get up," says a familiar voice. As your thoughts become less blurred by sleep, you realize that you should have known who it would belong to. 

"Good morning to you, too, Sync," you say, half-slurred. "Maybe if you wanted me to awaken easily, you shouldn't have drugged me so much."

Sync makes an annoyed _tch_ of a sound and grabs you by the front of your robes, hauling you to your feet. You barely manage to get your legs under you as he drags you over to the chair and pushes you into it. 

You crumple under the push, sagging into the chair, but the moment Sync takes to press a hand into your shoulder gives you enough time to get your head together. You know what he's looking for, and so you barely flinch as he raises his hand back and inflicts the curse slot again.

"That was pointless," he tells you, and he's not even winded by working the arte, which is just so _unfair_ you can't stand it.

"I said I'd cooperate with the seals," you point out. "Not anything else." You resist the urge to press your hand against your aching shoulder. You won't give him anything.

"Hmph. Asch rubbed off on you far too much," Sync mutters. 

You let yourself smile, just a little, at that. "Just enough, I think. If it was him you were questioning, he'd be telling you to get it over with already."

Sync's mouth twists into a frown. "You're right about that, at least," he concedes, sounding distinctly put out about it. 

When he doesn't say anything else after a moment, you find yourself sighing. "I understand why you resent me," you say, "but you don't have to get angry _every_ time we agree."

"Shut your mouth," he snaps immediately. "You don't understand it at all."

"Maybe I don't know what it's like to be _rejected_ like that," you say, carefully. "But I understand perfectly well how it feels to not be _good_ enough." 

"It's not my fault you're weak," he sneers back at you.

"And it's not my fault you can't use the Seventh Fonon," you say, quite reasonably. 

Sync exhales in a hiss. "I can use it well enough for _this_ ," he says, and you feel the first tingles running up your shoulder - 

_You're sitting on a machine_ , begins the memory, but you rapidly lose any perception of what that means. 

_Your eyes are open, but you don't track any of the movement in the room with them. Voices, people moving in and out of your field of vision - they don't mean anything to you._

_"This one had best be adequate," says the man in robes just within your gaze. "I doubt the Fon Master can handle another - "_

_"Silence, Mohs," says a voice from above you. The speaker is breathing heavily in between the words. "I will endure it as many times as I must."_

_**Tha-thump** , sounds from above you._

_"O-of course, Fon Master," says the first speaker again._

_"The synchronization level is higher with this one," says the thin figure next to him. "Preliminary indications are that the Seventh Fonon ability should be satisfactory, unlike the last two. However..."_

_"What is it?" says the voice from above. It's moving, along with the thumping noise, until the owner enters your view to lean over the thin man's shoulder._

_"The physical ability level is low," the thin one answers. "We'll have to be careful with it. We can't dispose of the others until we're sure it won't die of infection."_

_"And this is still the best candidate?" the large figure says._

_Your eyes have begun to get dry. On some unknown reflex, you blink._

_Then you blink again, surprised by the feeling of moving. And a third time. None of the three people across the room notice. They're all too busy looking at the screen in front of the thin one._

_"It's the closest match to the Fon Master's frequency yet," says the thin one. "It stands to reason that it would be the closest match physically as well."_

_"A pity you weren't able to reproduce the results you had with Asch," the small figure says,_ and something that isn't part of the memory spasms and jerks at the name. _"Begin the programming sequence..."_

And then... black.

\----

You wake up alone in your bed, feeling like half your emotions were dragged out of you. That memory... It's so early in your life that you weren't even conscious of possessing it before now. Before your skills were programmed in, even - a true newborn.

You find yourself shuddering at the thought. Is that how Van intends to secure your cooperation? By reducing you back to a blank infant who can't think for himself?

You can't quell the shivering. The details of the memory are slipping away as you try to finger them, to look at them with a mind that actually knows what was going on, but...

_"I will endure it as many times as I must."_ Your original was gone before you had enough autonomy to really form an opinion of him, but now the thought of it makes you want to laugh. Even with his voice shaking with pain, with the condition he must have been in by that point...

You have never had any choice but to be Ion. But the Ion people tried to make you into... From just that one memory, you can tell. He never existed.

_As many times as I must,_ you think to yourself. Then you eat, remove the curse slot once more, and curl up to sleep off the resulting exhaustion.

\----

The next meal brings with it fresh clothes. Even if they're plainer and coarser than your current robes, you change into them gratefully. Wearing nothing else for weeks was starting to get to you.

Not long after that - the next time you're awake, but before you've gotten bored enough to eat - Sync returns.

He seems surprised to find you awake and you capitalize on it while he's shutting the door.

"Were you the fifth or the sixth?" you ask.

There, a reaction, even if just a twitch. If you can knock him even a little off balance... "What does it matter?" he shoots back at you. "And why out of those two, anyway?"

"It doesn't, really," you say, and the smile you wear isn't completely pasted on. "And I suppose you _could_ have been the fourth, but any earlier than that had serious problems with the programming, didn't they?"

"If it doesn't matter, then don't ask," he says, and that's probably all the answer you're going to get. When you don't reply, he reaches for your shoulder. Under the mask, he frowns. "Again?"

"Get used to it," you say cheerfully.

"Tch. Don't be so eager to spend your energy," he says. You roll your shoulder in an attempt to throw his hand off, and he lets you. It's only to draw back and re-apply the curse slot once again, though.

This time, you're able to watch without flinching. "What does Van hope to accomplish with this?" you ask. "He doesn't _really_ expect me to change my mind so easily, does he?"

"It's worked well enough on others in the past." There's something smug in Sync's voice. "Of course _you_ wouldn't have noticed how many people in the Order Van's swayed to his side."

"Forgive me if I'm not particularly intimidated by methods that mostly work on Mohs' sycophants," you counter. "How many of them actually _know_ Van's feelings on the Score?"

Beneath the mask, you see Sync's expression shift again, in a way that you think means that he knows you have a point but doesn't want to acknowledge it. You lean back just a little in your seat, satisfied. Of course, Van's true feelings are too dangerous to reveal so easily. It's the same for Asch, after all, and until very recently you were the only one who knew.

Well, aside from Van, of course.

"It doesn't matter," Sync says. "They're all going to die eventually anyway. What they think won't change that."

Your confusion must show on your face, though you haven't taken the effort to make it do so, because Sync looks down at you, and then laughs. "Of course! You don't know! Van's an idiot who never told Asch, so of course you wouldn't know."

You resolutely refuse to say _know what_ , on principle. Sync continues to chuckle to himself, and you feel the beginnings of the curse slot activating and taking hold of your mind.

The last thing you remember before you _remember_ , is Sync leaning in close to your ear and whispering, "The Seventh Fonstone foretells the end of the world."

\----

_A little less blank, a little more shaped -_

_"Eyes here, replica," says the voice of the boy in front of you - his eyes at perfect level with yours, his face identical -_

_Except that he makes expressions, and you don't. But this time, when he moves a hand in front of your face, you remember to have your eyes track it. Even though you would rather know what expression your original is making._

_"Good," he says. "Now, smile."_

_You do, and he smiles back - but it's not quite like yours. You don't know how to smile like that. You're being trained to smile _gently_ , to be _friendly_ , but there's nothing friendly about the expression your original gives you._

_"You might do yet," he says, turning away and going back to the paperwork on his desk. You follow him after a moment. It isn't something that you've been ordered to do; you just do it, programming enabling your feet to move across the floor without the slightest stumble._

_At his desk, your original stops and looks back at you, surprised. "Why did you follow me?"_

_It takes a moment of processing for you to realize that he's _asking_ something, asking _you_. No one has ever asked you something like that before and really expected an answer. No one has ever asked _why_._

_You've never thought about why._

_"I don't... know?" you say, not quite monotone, not quite a question, still stuttering on the idea of making words with your mouth._

_Your original watches you for a moment longer, then simply nods, turning back to his paperwork. "You might very well do," he says. "If I can't have an isofon... Keep developing as you are, and someday you might make an adequate replacement."_

_You don't know if you're supposed to reply to that. So you smile._

\----

After that worrying revelation, Sync leaves you alone for what must be days. Without daylight, still sleeping far too much because of the drugs, you lose all track of time, but you don't _think_ it's been so long that it could be called weeks.

The end of the world... If that's true, why is Van working to move the Score forward? Why didn't he tell Asch?

Surely, as mad as he _is_ , he cannot be that far gone, to want the world to end?

One day, you notice that the food left for you doesn't make you drowsy. You lie in bed for a bit longer just in case, but sigh and lift yourself up to wash while you have the energy. Your thoughts are still not exactly clear, but you itch to do _something_ while you have the chance - 

And if you aren't drugged into sleep again, it probably means that Van is coming to pay you another _visit_ , and you'll be damned if you give him the satisfaction of seeing you anything less than put together.

Once you're clean and dressed again, you turn your chair to face the door, fold your hands in your lap, and wait. If nothing else, the memories that Sync has dragged to the surface lately have reminded you of a replica's inborn talent for patiently sitting with the same expression for hours.

Thankfully, it doesn't take hours. You're not actually sure how long, but it feels like no time at all, before the door unlocks and swings open.

"I'll be accompanying you today," Van says, not even bothering to come through the door. You suppose there isn't much point, at that, given that you don't need to be awakened and he would just be leaving again anyway. "Let's be off."

It's not as pleasant as he was to Luke, but it's not as cold as he was before, either. You watch him carefully as you get up and leave the room. You're not entirely sure what you're watching for, but you watch.

But Van only sets a brisk pace through the halls of the ship that leaves you scrambling to keep up - you refuse to think of it as _scurrying_ , you have your dignity - and says nothing as you follow him to the hatch. You manage to risk a glance out a porthole, and are met with the sight of colored sky and red-brown cliffs.

Meggiora, then, and either dawn or dusk. You think maybe dawn, from how pale and watery the color is, but you suppose you can't be sure just yet.

Down the causeway and _finally_ Van has slowed to allow you to catch up. There's no evidence of anyone else save the single guard posted to mind the hatch until your return. In fact, aside from the Tartarus, anchored in the river, there's barely a sign of any other living thing.

Remembering what Asch said about Luke, about how replicas don't leave bodies when they die, you find yourself shivering. If Van decided to dispose of you out here...

But no, he won't. Even after this, there are three Sephiroth to go. You deny your thoughts that path, because while it might be someday, it won't be _to_ day.

The silence continues until beyond hearing range of the Tartarus, until after you've decided that it must definitely be dawn. Van breaks it, quite suddenly, by saying, "I understand Sync told you something of the Seventh Fonstone."

You keep expression and voice both neutral. "He may have."

"He should have known better, but what's done is done." The words make you doubt that it was any kind of accident, but - Van actually does seem annoyed. "That's why I didn't allow him on this outing. He'll deal with distracting Arietta, instead."

You hum, saying nothing. It certainly sounds legitimate - dealing with Arietta _is_ practically a punishment for Sync, from what you've seen of how well they get along - but because it's Van saying it, you have to be suspicious. Have to be. Even if it leads to thinking yourself in circles.

"I'm sure you have many questions," Van says, slowing to a halt. And while you certainly do, you are not going to take the obvious bait; you stop next to him only briefly before continuing on down the path.

It doesn't particularly matter that you don't actually know where you're going. Van can overtake your smaller strides easily, and he soon does, chuckling as he passes you. "I assume you know by now," he says,"that Tear and I are descended from Yulia herself. She left her fonic hymns in our keeping... as well as the Seventh Fonstone."

Of course. It makes sense, but... "Where?" you ask, finally breaking your silence.

You don't like the way that makes him smile. "Concealed on Hod, in the family gardens, looking like any other memorial to the family founders. The Sephiroth was in our basement."

"How convenient," you say. Convenient that it was there - convenient that it's now beyond reach.

"Disbelieve me if you like," Van says. "The same is written yet in the Planet Score - even if you are not the true Fon Master, you should have sufficient affinity with the Seventh Fonon to read it."

Silence, then, except for the skittering of a lizard across the rocks. You _could_ probably read the Planet Score, but actually doing so... Even more than the Daathic artes, it would utterly exhaust you. It might even cost you your life.

You're sure that Van is aware of that as well. By now, he no doubt knows the exact limits of your stamina. Overtaken by momentary anger at your own weakness, you start walking again, in any direction that will get you away from Van.

Asch could read it, you're sure, but he _would_ not. The idea of it would be repellent to him, practically repulsive. Luke... probably has the raw ability, if he's as perfect a replica as Asch thinks he is, but lacks the skills. Lacks much of any skill at all when it comes to fonic artes, if you're being honest.

Tear... perhaps could. Probably could. But convincing her would only be a slightly less impressive task than convincing Asch, for exactly the opposite reason. Tear was raised in Yulia City and has taken the Order's laws with her daily bread for as long as she can remember.

How ironic, that, that a Hod survivor should follow the Score so closely. You start to understand why in so many of your memories - not the earliest ones that Sync has dug up with the curse slot, but the later ones you can consciously call to mind - the only word to describe your original is _tired_.

You suppose you cannot blame Van for hastening the end, in those circumstances. It makes you... Angry? Grieved? That a desire for revenge could become such a thing.

You don't know why he thinks that that would do anything to convince you to his cause, though. It doesn't quite add up, you think. Surely he doesn't expect that anyone in their right mind would knowingly work to destroy the world...

Van, of course, has kept pace behind you, keeping an eye on you to even as he appears to give you room with your thoughts. For your part, you spend a few minutes contemplating the reasons so many of your friends use physical fighting as an outlet. You can certainly understand it right now. 

You want to run, scream, destroy something, expend yourself until exhaustion. The problem with that is that you are already, still, always exhausted. 

For some hundred yards, you run anyway, until your legs burn and you can hardly breathe, and then you slump onto a seat on a rock still shaded by the high cliffs around you. At least Van does not chase you at speed; he maintains a steady walking pace, letting you catch your breath while he catches up.

You haven't managed to catch it yet by then, but there's no judgement in his face as he stands over you. You wish there was. It would be easier to defy it.

Finally, chest still heaving, you force out, "Then... What is it you _want_?"

He smiles. (Surely, that is the smile of a liar.) "The complete destruction of the Score. That's the only way to save this world."

Well, at least you weren't wrong about him wanting to destroy something, some sick part of you observes. Finally getting control over your breathing, you straighten and lift yourself from the stone you're leaned against. "And how would you accomplish such an impossible task?"

Because it's impossible. Surely, because how could you hope to destroy the planet's memory? Short of destroying the future itself, which would defeat the purpose.

"Why, Fon Master," and surely there must be mocking in that title, _surely_ , even if you can't hear it, because you are no Fon Master and both of you know it, "you yourself are the proof that the method works. _Fon Master Ion shall die at the age of twelve_ , wasn't it?"

The Score quote sends a shiver up your spine, in spite of the growing warmth of the desert day. In a way, it's the only birth Score you'll ever have.

The concept is simple enough, but still stunning like a blow. That a replica could escape the Score where the original could not is...

Your thoughts turn to Luke, almost automatically. What a contradiction in Van's plans, that in that case he would burn the replica to save the original. You consider mentioning it, but then stop.

You are _not_ here to allow Van the chance to justify everything he's done. You're here to fulfill your end of the bargain that _protects_ Luke from the fate Van has in mind for him. 

"Which way to the Sephiroth?" you ask, and resolve that to be your last question of the day.

\----

By the time you reach the Sephiroth, the day's heat is already starting to build oppressively. Even if the clothes you're wearing aren't as fine as your usual robes, you find up feeling glad of it. The thick fabric you usually favor... Wouldn't be a good idea here, not at all.

Is it just your mind playing tricks - the heat, the remaining fuzziness from the drugs even if you aren't exhausted by them, the tiredness of walking this far already - or is it a little easier, to open the seal this time?

You wobble still, though, and lean against the side of the archway. Van, ever _helpful_ to those he wants on his side, hands you an open canteen. You barely manage to keep yourself from draining all of it, but somehow, you force yourself to stop about half and hand it back.

Van drains the remainder himself before stowing the empty canteen back into his tabard. You realize that he's probably worse off in this heat than you, even if he's adopted a lighter version of his uniform underneath. You then force yourself not to care.

"It will be too hot to return to the ship soon," he says. "We may as well go inside and have a look."

... _Oh_. You hesitate, looking down the entrance cavern. It might only be the contrast with the outside, but it seems incredibly dark.

"There's no need to be nervous," Van says. "We won't be able to proceed far, anyway. The Albertesque and Yulian seals will still be in place."

You twist your head to look at him again. "You expect me to believe that Yulia's hymns were passed down, but the means of undoing those seals weren't?"

Van chuckles. "A fair point, but only half correct. I only know how to undo the Yulian seals; the method of undoing the Albertesque seal has been lost."

You consider that for a moment, then sigh. You suppose there's no need to _know_ how to undo it when the passage rings that support the seal - Hod and Akzeriuth - are the ones Scored for destruction anyway.

Still, it's reassuring to know that whatever it is Van intends with them, he won't be able to complete until after Akzeriuth is fallen. So long as Asch and Luke can keep that from happening, what you're doing here today won't come back to bite you.

And so you descend into the passage ring without waiting for Van. It quickly becomes apparent that the cavern is lit from within, because not long after the slope levels out, an amber glow lights your way. Soon, the cavern opens wider, into a room full of fon machines the likes of which you've never seen. Vast tubes hang unadorned on the walls, and the floor is worked with almost-familiar symbols, like to those in Daath's cathedral.

You come to a stop and tilt your head up, but the light fades away before the ceiling, giving the impression that this room stretches forever upward. Your skin tingles from the memory particles welling up from the Sephiroth.

Van steps around you towards a door at the back of the room. "Come, this isn't even the passage ring proper."

Your expression of awe drops at the order, but you do obediently follow. The round seal on the door spins and allows it to open at your approach, revealing what seems to be a lift platform at the back of the hall.

However, when you step onto the platform, the lift mechanism doesn't respond. Van hums thoughtfully, before going over to the edge of the platform and leaning over. "It seems the power supply's failed."

_Good_ , you think to yourself in silence. Every layer of difficulty between Van and the passage ring is a good thing, even if it means you don't get to see it yourself.

Van, though, opens a panel with a quiet clang and lays flat on his stomach, all the dignity of his position as Commandant forgotten. Unable to help your curiosity, you step closer, leaning over to watch him fiddle with - they're not quite wires, exactly, but the shape is like a circuit, tiny crystal fonstones sticking out of the pattern. 

Van glances up at you, then back to his work. "Yulia City has the same technology, of course. This happens occasionally - the fonons crystallize and disrupt the circuits." He pulls a handkerchief from his belt and rubs aggressively at the problematic section. 

There's a sudden jolt of earth fonons, and the platform under you rumbles briefly. Van taps at another part of the machinery. "Hmm. Not quite. My hands may be too large for this, I'm afraid." He turns and offers you the cloth, which has tiny fragments of fonstone glittering orange in it. "Care to try?"

You want to refuse, but something about the sparkle and the chance to _do_ something catches against your better judgement, and somehow you wind up on your stomach in turn, taking the handkerchief. Your arms barely reach the place he was working. "Here?"

"That's it."

And so you grind the cloth into the metal, peeling off little shards of fonons that send rumbles up to your shoulder, until the platform beneath you shakes again. You freeze as the machinery beneath your hand starts to hum. 

"There, that ought to do it," Van says, and you pull your arm back quickly. He replaces the panelling. "Not bad for a first effort," he says to you, and you frown before handing him the cloth back, still covered in fragments of fonstone.

"I'm hardly a fontechnician," you say, which is a denial of the fact that even though you have no idea what it is you just did, really, it was incredibly interesting. It must happen with some regularity in Yulia City, though you'd wager it's more likely miasma clogging those circuits.

"Most fontechnicians wouldn't have known what to do, either," Van says, speaking to your thoughts. You hope he didn't see them on your face, because you thought it under better control than that. "Dawn Age technology is far advanced beyond what most of them will ever handle, after all."

You're silent at that, instead watching as Van activates the lift and starts the descent. The amount of memory particles in the air increases measurably, swirling with a mix of fonons until it almost becomes visible. Your entire body hums.

Finally, the lift settles. The passage ring itself is massive and hangs in space nearly without support, bobbing gently on the current of energy welling up from the Sephiroth. The bulky stone and tubes of the room above are gone in favor of sleek, glyph-covered projections forming circles around the passage ring's main mechanism.

You stare in wide-eyed wonder, the rest of your face blank as the proper expression slides forgotten from your mind. As you watch, though, Van approaches the ring in the center, and a glyph flashes to life beneath his feet, barring the way.

"Albertesque seal," he says disdainfully, nudging a foot at the resulting barrier. "Still, it is quite the sight. Yulia's handiwork has held up quite well."

You nod mutely, taking a hesitant step onto the glyph-formed path. The lighting in here is greener, and the floating glyphs a true yellow, compared to the amber hall above. Aside from the Gates and the Albertesque seals, each of the remaining six Sephiroth is dedicated to one of the first six fonons. Unless you miss your guess by a wide margin, this is dedicated to the Sixth; a good place for it, with the desert sun outside charging even the ground with the fonon of light.

Sitting and leaning into a piece of machinery along the edge of the path, you begin to doze, feeling more refreshed than you have in weeks.

\----

Eventually, Van rouses you, and the two of you return to the ship. You're starving, but ignore the food that's even still warm when you're returned to your cell, wanting to ride the feeling of relief you got in the passage ring a little longer.

Eventually, though, you eat, and sleep, and the cycle begins again. The reprieve of Meggiora's passage ring is just enough to remind you how much you loathe what's become your routine. You have no idea of the date; even travel times are impossible to use to estimate things on, because you're fairly sure the Tartarus has become Van's mobile base of operations, and you _know_ that it stops at some other harbor not long after Meggiora. You've learned to tell the difference in the running of the engines, the sound a constant background hum, your one clue to the outside world.

You're almost relieved when Sync shows up again, roughly shaking you awake (it feels) right after you've settled in. At least it's a break in the monotony.

You don't wish him good morning this time, though. In fact, with the effects of the drugs still strong in your system, you can't even manage to get off the bed properly. Everything is kind of numb and your limbs don't work quite right.

Sync doesn't have any patience for it, and practically drags you into the chair, bearing almost all of your weight. You flop into it and blink, finding that your eyes and thoughts won't quite focus on him.

You aren't aware of the question you ask until Sync freezes, staring at you, and you have to roll back through the last few moments to figure out what it is you said to make him look at you like that. Ah, yes. " _Why don't you leave Van?_ "

"What are you talking about?" he demands, and you think his haughtiness is slipping.

It takes you a moment to get your thoughts into order. "Van thinks that only replicas are free from the Score. But Luke and I are still trapped by the roles we were born for." You think you can see the conclusion of your thought in his face, but you finish it up anyway. "You're the only one who can really do whatever you want."

There's a breath's silence, and then Sync slams his hands violently down on your chair's armrests. "What would _you_ know about it?" he demands. "Being useful to Van is the only reason I'm alive. Even if I _could_ leave - where could I go, with a face like _this_?"

In a single swift motion, he grabs the mask from his face and rips it off, throwing it across the room. You flinch involuntarily as it nearly strikes your face in the process, then look back up at him.

You thought you were prepared to see his face - your own, reflected back. But you find yourself unsettled, anyway, because as much as you're used to seeing your face in the mirror, it isn't quite right, seeing it on Sync. Not that you can put a finger to what exactly is off, but he isn't perfectly your reflection - 

(Of course. Reflection. The mirror reverses things, doesn't it? So this is the face that everyone else sees.)

Of course, you've never seen your face as twisted by anger as his is. Sync's eyes are wild and don't quite focus into yours, don't quite make the eye contact you were trained to make perfectly.

That strange emotion of envy bubbles up in your throat again. You're not half as expressive and you know it. You still don't really know how to _feel_ anger.

While you're out of it on that line of thought, he pulls back a hand as though to slap you, which makes your brain get back on track, though not before the sharp sting of leather on your cheeks.

"What does that matter?" you ask, before he can demand a response from you. "Hardly anyone outside Daath knows what I actually look like. Even if people do know, they'll just write it off because no one really knows much about fomicry in the first place."

He tries to maintain that angry facade, but you saw it - his eyes widening just a little, inches from your own, a little thread of disbelief. It's like he never even thought of it.

(He probably didn't. Would you have, if not for Asch and Luke and their very different places in the world? It's not a thought you like.)

"There's millions of people in the world," you say. "You could do anything you wanted."

The way he stares at you is interrupted by the way he snorts. "And what else could I do, except this?"

Your fogged mind doesn't have an answer for him. You hope you'll remember the question later.

Then pain slices up your arm again, and this time Sync barely waits for the arte to settle before he drags you back into your memories.

_"What are you doing?" your original asks, after coming back to the room that you're kept in. He's not looking at your face, but at your hand on the desk, holding a pen._

_Reading and writing were programmed into you. It's not like you have any need to practice. But while he was gone, you just started writing, copying out page after page of the words he leaves on his desk. He used to have you do that while he was gone. You don't know why he stopped._

_You understand that he doesn't want to know what you were literally doing. That is something he can see. What he wants is something closer to why, and you still aren't good at whys._

_You put the pen down, and put your hand on the paper you were filling with letters. It takes you a minute to answer. (Not fast enough, not real enough, you aren't good enough yet.)_

_"Why are mine different?" you say. "I can't make them look alike."_

_Your original looks between you and the paper you were copying from. The letters on that paper are smaller, thinner, tilted a little. "You were programmed with my handwriting," he says. "Someone else wrote this."_

_Someone else? You think about the papers you used to copy, how they always came out looking exactly the same when you wrote them. Someone else. Some other person, holding a pen just like you, but -_

_"But why are they different?" you repeat, not understanding, staring at the sharp loops of 'Van Grants' on the paper in front of you._

\----

Your head is clearer, when you wake up from the inevitably curse-slot induced unconsciousness. Your cheek still stings from where Sync slapped you. Your shoulder, of course, aches from the renewed glyph.

"Ugh," you say to the bars supporting the mattress above your head, and decide to not move at all. Instead you think about that memory, and where it cut off, and why - 

You can't consciously recall it, but you still know. That was the day you first comprehended that people, normal people, were different from each other, and that you weren't. Van's signature on the report hangs invisibly in front of your eyes, caught in the last gasps of that memory.

You wish you could remember what it said. But the you at the time hadn't cared about the contents, only copying it, only going through with the only routine you knew at the time, and so that isn't part of your memory.

You remember... being upset, at not understanding. At not being able to copy the documents right. You didn't understand the feeling then, but you understand it now. You weren't good enough, and didn't understand why.

You lie on your back in the dark, clenching and unclenching your fists. You still aren't good enough. You still can't do anything - 

You don't realize at first what changes. Something interrupts your thoughts, and you've been here almost too long to realize what.

The engines have stopped. You'd forgotten what the silence sounded like. That's what stopped you.

Very suddenly, you throw yourself from the bed, blankets following you from the floor. Why is this room so _dark_? You go to where the controls for the lights would be, but when you try to adjust them, nothing happens. You frown, and go to the shower, turning up the knobs as hot as they'll go, but you can't get anything more than lukewarm water. Or anything colder, either.

You feel sure that the lights were brighter when you were first thrown in here. That adjusting the water in the shower and the sink actually did something.

You pull at the hem of the overlarge shirt you're wearing, with its complete lack of any detail or comfort, and you think how grateful you were when it was left here, to have anything other than your growing-filthy robes to wear.

Where are your robes now? In these clothes, you look like the prisoner you are.

They've been wearing you down without you ever realizing. And just like that, the desire to fight again is in your chest, the urge to beat your hands against the wall and do _something_ \- 

You refuse to give into the hopelessness of that urge. You don't think about what you _can't_ do. 

Instead, you sit on your bed, thinking about what you _can_ do, and when a guard comes in carrying a tray of food, you're still awake and lucid. 

You ask if you can see Van. The guard stares at you in surprise, but says that he'll see if the Commandant is aboard. Interesting, that, because it implies that Van isn't always here.

(There is one thing you _can_ do, one skill that exhaustion and darkness can't take away from you. You can _play along_.)

\----

When you hear the door being opened again, you let the renewed pride soak out of the set of your shoulders, turn a faintly blank expression towards Van as he enters. You don't say anything, until the door is closed, and you're locked in here, just you and him.

Of course. He doesn't need any help to deal with you. Your Daathic artes aren't enough to kill him outright, not by yourself, and you don't stand a chance against him any other way, so why should he worry?

(It's not about what you can't do.)

"What's going to happen to the Outer Lands?" you say. Because it's the right thing to say, because you're the sort of person who cares what happens.

(Because you can't stop him if you don't know.)

"The force of the Planet Storm is shaking the core of the planet apart," Van says. It's not quite an answer, so you put on a questioning look, baiting him for more information. "Eventually, the Passage Rings will fail and all of the Outer Lands will fall into the Qliphoth."

"And everyone living on them will die," you say, not quite _tonelessly_ , but close enough.

(He hasn't quoted any of the Score at you. If it's not something he can say with the Score, you might be able to change it.)

Van nods. "If we act now, there's still the chance to save something. A replica world is better than no world at all."

And it makes a twisted sort of sense, if you believe that the world is already doomed. But only twisted sense.

(Van doesn't know what it's like to _be_ a replica. There's no way he could understand that feeling, of floundering in your own emotions, without any guidance. And who would guide a world full of replicas?)

You weigh what you should say in your mind - you can't seem to go along with his ideas too easily, after all. "But what about the people who exist now? Why can't they just be brought to the new world? Surely that would be simpler than trying to make replicas of everyone."

"Anyone who did would bring with them knowledge of the Score," Van says. "The pointless wars and death in pursuit of prosperity would never end. In order to restore free will, the Score must die with Auldrant."

You withhold pointing out the errors in that logic, even within your head. The key to playing along is not thinking about it.

"Then why do you need Asch?" you ask instead.

Van folds his arms behind him and steps away, turning as though looking out the window in the door (which remains as dark and blocked off as ever). "The source of the Score is Lorelei itself," her says after a moment. "Both in order to destroy that, and to use the resulting fonons to build the replica world itself, I need a controlled hyperresonance. Asch is the only one who can do it."

You think about Asch's certainty that Luke was also capable, and you don't mention it. Instead, you let your eyes get wide. At least you don't have to take your shock at the idea of destroying Lorelei.

"I thought Lorelei wasn't even confirmed to exist," you say.

"Yulia's own journals speak of her encounters with the entity," Van says. "For the people of Hod, it was enough."

And you wonder how much else was lost with Hod that you'll never know, briefly, before letting your face go blank. "I don't know if Asch would go along with that," you say.

"He hates the Score as much as I do," Van says. "If he truly understood... But he won't listen to me any longer."

_As well he shouldn't._ But again, you don't show that you know Asch's opinion won't change, that he thinks Van just as awful. Instead you say, "But you think he'll listen to me."

"I'm certain of it. He sees in you the kind of idealist he once was, and he's trying to protect that." 

Van flavors his lies with the truth, and you think that statement might be one of them. Or at least, something that Van thinks is true.

Asch doesn't look at you and see someone who needs to be protected. You miss being looked at like that, you realize suddenly, with a feeling like someone has run a finger down your insides, on the space between your lungs just above your heart.

You say, "I need some time to think about it." Because you need to plan your next move, your next pack of lies, how to hinder him while moving with him -

A replica world will cease to function. How is it that Van doesn't realize that? Is it because he doesn't remember his own infancy, the way normal people don't, the way even you didn't really until Sync dragged it back with the curse slot? Or is he just that blind?

You might wish sometimes for insight into how normal people think and process emotions, but Van can't be called normal, and you don't think you ever want to understand how he thinks.

"Of course," he says. "As you might have guessed, we will arrive at Daath in the next few days; it will no doubt be good for you to be in a more familiar setting."

Ah, so that's how it will be. In exchange for your cooperation, a slight bit more freedom.

"I'll look forward to it," you say, and the discussion comes to an end.

\----

They lessen your dose of drugs, and return your robes to you, clean and fresh, on what turns out to be the day before your arrival. You're allowed openly on deck as the ship pulls in to port, blinking at the fresh air. You suppose Arietta must be elsewhere.

Sync and Largo are responsible for delivering you back to your rooms in the cathedral, and then, finally, blessedly, you have true privacy in a room you have the ability to leave. Not far, you doubt you'll be able to leave the cathedral, but maybe...

The thought of where to leave a message hangs in your mind, but for now you need to rest before you play along with the unsealing in the volcano. You'll need company to do that to make sure that you actually make it back, and you need to deal with the issue of Cantabile.

The issue of Cantabile, who makes herself known to you only a scant two hours after you've settled into your rooms, cleaned and changed into robes that aren't so beaten from weeks of journeying. The head of your guard sweeps in with a disapproving expression, sword at her waist and her one eye locked on you.

To anyone else, it probably would have been intimidating. Cantabile doesn't view you as as much of a child as most of the rest of the Oracle Knights do (as, ultimately, Van's faction does, because who else isn't in Van's pocket besides Asch and the Intelligence Division?), but that doesn't mean that she views you as a peer, either, or entirely capable of taking care of yourself.

But at this point you've faced down Van Grants, Sync, and Asch all at varying degrees of anger without flinching, and it feels _good_ to be able to steady yourself and straighten your back, instead of having to play along, as you meet her gaze.

"Just how, Fon Master," she starts, "are we supposed to protect you if we don't know where you've gone? And where is Sergeant Tatlin?"

Easy smile, it means nothing, you fold your hands in front of you. "I'm sorry, Commander," you say. "It was critical that my recent mission be carried out in secret, and I'm afraid events ran away from me. They continue to do so, in fact."

Nothing but the truth, but wearing as many layers as your robes. For who could have expected that your mission of peace would have gone so off the rails as to throw Luke into your lap?

Cantabile fails to look impressed. "You gave me a job, Fon Master," she says. "And as much as I appreciate being pulled out of the mouth of the wolves, I appreciate more if you would let me do it."

You add a degree of warmth to your smile. "Of course. I understand, but I'm afraid that won't be possible for a while longer."

Her face falls into an expression of displeasure, a scowl to rival any you've seen Asch with. "And who will protect you there? You do not have a successor, Ion. The people of Auldrant can't afford to lose you."

You think of a Score so Closed not even the Maestros of the Order know it, and keep smiling. If you should fail, Auldrant won't have any need of a Fon Master anyway. Van will erase all of it. Slowly, you school your face into something warmer.

"That's exactly why I need you _here_ , Commander. Stay in Daath and keep a watch over things - guard the people of Auldrant where I cannot."

Her scowl softens into a more normal frown. "This has to do with whatever Van's faction is doing, doesn't it? I thought that you were against them."

And you wish, you wish that you could tell her the whole of it, but even that is too much a risk. You can only leave hints. "For the time being, I must work with Van and his group. However, my hopes for the people of Auldrant in the future remain the same."

She watches you for a moment, then sighs, her eye closing. "Very well. I'll put my trust in you, for now."

"Thank you, Commander Cantabile." You pause. "Also, if... if Commander Asch comes through Daath, tell him to revisit the section we talked about. I've come across some new information that deeply affects the interpretation."

She scrunches her eyebrows, but says nothing to it, merely bowing stiffly. "By your leave, then, Fon Master," she says. "I'll leave you to your rest."

Your smile doesn't fall from your face until long after she is gone.

\----

There is one benefit to your loss of a sense of night and day, which is that when you awaken in the hours long before even dawn, none see you slip down to the dust of the libraries alone. The note gripped in your hand - it _should_ be in code, you know that, know that leaving these details of Van's plans available for any eyes to see is risky. But you and Asch have never established any kind of code between you, and you can't take the risk of this not getting to him.

So you leave your note pressed between the pages of the Order's code and doctrine, where no one but Asch will think to look for it, and disturb a number of other books on your way out, just so it's less obvious that that's where you've been. And then you go back to bed and eventually catch a few more hours before you rise refreshed in the morning.

The next day, feeling a bit more confident and devious, you pick your target. And so you are absolutely serene as you glide into Sync's Chief of Staff office and make it a point to keep the smile from your face. With the door still open, you say, "Might I bother you for a bit of assistance on that expedition we discussed tomorrow?"

Sync, overlooking his desk, looks like he very much wants to impale you on his mask, at least the little bit of his expression you can see. It occurs to you that you've never been inside his office before - indeed, never really been around him much at all. And no wonder, when the resemblance is so obvious, that you were kept apart.

But with a very put-upon tone, he says, "Yeah. Fine," before picking up his pile of paperwork again and starting to order the pages. 

"Thank you," you say. "I'm sure you have a great deal to do, but I'd hate to trouble the Commandant over such a minor thing."

"Hmph." Sync's dismissal is clear as day, and you let him have that, ducking out his door and back up to the civilian parts of the Order's complex. You have your own preparations to perform, after all.

You make a point to check in with the Tatlins before you go back to bed. They're honored, of course, that the Fon Master has entrusted their daughter with a special mission. You only hope that those words are true, and that Anise is safe with the others, wherever they are.

\----

You meet Sync at the hidden library after breakfast the next morning. Both are you are eager to get this over with.

You've dressed down, shedding the usual heavy wool of your outer robes for a lighter one of Malkuth cotton. It makes the cathedral a bit chilly, but you know you'll appreciate it once you're inside the Sephiroth itself. Sync appears in his usual black coat, and you raise your eyebrows but don't say anything. If he wants to overheat, well, fine.

For your part, you're aware that you're not fully recovered from your time aboard ship, but you shrug a large water canteen over your shoulder and keep going. The teleportation glyph behind the hidden door takes you into the depths of the volcano, and heat immediately washes over you.

The area on the other side is, however, not as empty as you expected. Various pieces of equipment surround a massive fonstone. You step to the side to allow Sync passage through, your eyes far more on the instruments than on your counterpart.

Sync appears immediately afterwards and gives the equipment a disdainful look. "Mohs," is the only explanation he offers, terse and snappish before heading off down the path. You're surprised to get even that much.

But then, of course, for all that the Grand Maestro faction seems aligned with Van's on the surface, he surely can't know about the secrets of the Seventh Fonstone, if they are what Van claims they are. He may be trying to start a war, but it is at least out of a belief that it will bring prosperity in the end.

("How many more lifetimes?" Asch asked you once, speaking of the Seventh Fonstone, and you know now that the answer is _not enough, not nearly enough_.)

The initial pace that Sync sets is punishing, and yet before too long you realize that you are brushing past him with regularity. Any time the ancient pathways cross over a pool of lava, he hesitates, only starting again once you either pass him or he realizes that you're about to. You file it away for now, to think on later, because right now - 

"Sure you can make it back?" he says as the seal comes into view through the haze of heat. "I'm not going to carry you. You should have asked Largo."

There's an empty tonelessness to his words that wouldn't even measure on anyone else's awareness, you think. Not to anyone who didn't know what to listen for, for a replica experiencing something they didn't know how to express. Or, perhaps, that they didn't _want_ to express, you think as you brush by him again.

"It isn't that far," you say instead, blank-smiling at him. You pause and uncork your canteen, taking some of the weight from it by drinking. "Besides - if I pass out, you'll just catch me again, won't you?"

"Tch." Irritation. For some reason, you want to needle at it. "If you pass out, you're on your own. I'll leave you where you fall."

You know he won't. You both know it, so you just raise your eyebrows at him before taking a long draw of your water and recapping it. 

"Well, if you pass out from wearing thick clothes and not bringing your own water, I'll be sure to send someone down for you when I get back," you say, watching him carefully for a reaction. There is a slight slowing of his movements for just a moment, as he turns away to continue down the last section of path. Inside, you sigh to yourself. "At least take the mask off, it's not as though I don't know what's underneath."

"Hmph." And that seems to be all the answer you're going to get, because Sync is silent the rest of the way to the seal. You take one more sip of water and wipe the sweat from your forehead on your sleeve before you take up your position and dig inwards for the arte.

It's easier. You _know_ it's easier, can feel the fonons gathering to your hands with a little more speed. Is it just the lack of drugs in your system? You're scared to think otherwise.

But when the seal fades away beneath your hands, you don't black out. You wobble and wind up sliding to your knees, and there you have to _stay_ for a moment. But you're aware, and you're less drained than you might have otherwise been. Even in the heat - you uncap your half-empty canteen and rub some of the precious liquid, itself lukewarm, across the insides of your wrists the way you remember Luke telling you to do against the Chesedonia heat - you think you can make it back.

Sync doesn't say anything. He's just standing off to the side, his arms folded in a way that reminds you keenly of Asch.

"Just two more to go," you remind yourself out loud, even as inside you think -

_One. One more. I have to get away from them before breaking the seal at Akzeriuth._

You can only hope that you've bought the others enough time, as you finally drag yourself to your feet and start to make your way back towards the exit, your shadow following silently in your wake, offering neither aid nor commentary.

\----

After you get back that afternoon, you gulp down some actually cold water and immediately go to sleep, but the sense of satisfaction doesn't leave you over the next few days. Even the few moments you're under Van's eyes, as he _approves_ of you, can't dishearten you. Because you have grown stronger, even if it's not visible to see.

The next day, you're leaving Daath again, with extra warm clothes and a true room aboard the Tartarus, headed north to Keterburg. Even the heated areas of the ship grow chilly enough that you're switching to woolen leggings before you even reach the port. Keterburg is cold and harsh, and snow still falls from the sky the night you pull into port.

Van doesn't go with you. It's Largo, Sync, and Legretta, which is probably overkill for keeping you in line, but you have no doubts for even a moment that that's what they're there for. As cooperative as you've acted, surely Van isn't so foolish as to be taken in by your act.

At least you don't have Dist here, because returning to his hometown would surely set off another tirade about Jade. 

The Tartarus pulls in to port discreetly and drops you and your group of God-Generals off before retreating. You'll have to make the journey up the mountain from here, this bit of rocky, snowy coastline just outside the town.

You let Largo carry you a good portion of the way up the mountain, conserving your strength. You don't see any signs of your friends, and wonder why that makes you so disappointed. Is it because this is the last place, aside from Akzeriuth?

_Stupid_ , you can almost hear Sync's voice say. Or, considering that he's scouting the path ahead in silence, perhaps it is your worst self talking. It's so hard to know the difference. 

You knew that rescue wouldn't be coming. 

\----

Your group travels through the night, the moonlight on the snow making things bright, to avoid the worst of the thawing warmth of spring. It is still frozen at night, at least for the moment. Up the mountain, you and Legretta shivering in thick clothes, Largo wrapped under his armor against the chill and Sync acting as though it doesn't impact him at all.

And then, on the icy edge of a cliff, just shy of where the seal lies - 

An arrow, shot through the air, cutting past you into the ice. You freeze, and your first thought is bandits - 

The arrow is long and broad-tipped. You feel like you've seen its like before, but before your brain can catch up you hear Sync's exclamation.

"Damn! Asch really doesn't know when to quit, does he? Legretta, keep them off my back!"

And as you watch, your masked double vaults over the side of the cliff. Below, you hear Jade's voice as well, something about the high ground, and then a sudden _yelp_ that can only be Anise.

They _did_ come. You move to risk looking over the edge as Largo follows Sync, a slide down the face of the cliff instead of a jump, but Legretta swings her pistol to point at you. Her parka is flung open to give her more freedom of movement, revealing her usual light uniform underneath.

"Don't even think about it," she says. You still, and then nod, retreating back against the cliff face.

Back against the arrow embedded in the ice.

Legretta takes her attention off you. She fires one shot into the melee below, then another, swears, and then a third. You watch her carefully, one of your hands sneaking up towards the arrow. You wriggle it, and then again, and wait for the sound of a gunshot to cover your pulling it loose.

You're only going to get one chance. 

(You're not fast, or strong. That doesn't mean that you can do nothing.)

Down below you hear the familiar sounds of clashing swords. And Legretta's attention is entirely on them.

( _As many times as I must._ Even if you did not inherit your original's desires, you inherited his will.)

You take careful measure, of the parka riding up on Legretta's arms as she shoots down, of the gaps in the light armor of the uniform underneath. And you take your arrow and you turn it in your hand before wrenching it into her armpit with all the strength you can muster.

She screams, gasping in pain. It's one of the most horrible sounds you've ever heard. There's red on your hand, sticky and warm. 

You don't wait for her reaction before throwing yourself over the edge. You can see the fight below in a brief flash, the narrow section that Sync has harried Luke and Natalia onto, Asch with his blade pressed against Largo's impossibly heavy one, Jade midway into the casting of an arte, taking advantage of how the rest of the battlefield has broken focus at Legretta's scream. Anise, shouting your name.

The snow is softer than the mud. This time, when you land, your knees don't quake out from under you. 

And as you land, you reach in, again, and you feel the arte opening up beneath you, a blooming flower of light in the snow, and if this is the last - 

No. You won't let it be the last. The Daathic arte blazes, and though it might not be enough to finish Largo on its own, it forces him to move, gives Asch a chance to break their bladelock and slash at his side. Jade's arte follows yours, and the combination sends Largo to one knee, breath heaving. 

Across the battlefield, you can feel the way Sync looks at you.

"...Retreat," he orders after a moment that feels entirely too long. "They're here for the Fon Master, so they can _have_ him. Let's get out of here."

Jade catches your eye, over Largo's shoulder, and after a moment, you realize that he's letting it be your call. You glance up at where Legretta is curled in the snow above one more time, and then shake your head.

"Let them go."

\----

They go. You struggle to your feet in the snow, the cold seeping into your leggings. Tear comes to your side first, and a warm feeling spills over you that is both familiar and not - 

A healing arte. You suppose that is the first time anyone's ever used one on you, and you give her a tired smile. "It's alright, Tear. I'm not injured." 

Just cold, and exhausted. She looks you over, but then nods slowly.

"Ion!" 

And then there's Anise and Luke, both hurrying over to your side. Anise has a thick cloak thrown over her uniform, and Luke is in a dark red wool coat. Your Guardian pulls you into a hug immediately. "I'm so glad you're okay!" she says.

"Do give him some room to breathe, Anise," says Jade as he approaches. The way he looks at you is... just a little different, from before. "Found your footing, have you, Fon Master?"

Beyond him, Asch overlooks the cliff, watching the trio of God-Generals leave. You glance away. 

"I suppose I did, at that," you say. The rest of the group, save your lookout, closes in, and you give them all grateful smiles, but especially Natalia. The princess looks just slightly out of sync with the rest, and as surprising as it is to see her here, you accept it easily and nod in her direction. "Though I really must thank Her Highness for the arrow. It came in unexpectedly useful."

Natalia blinks at you, and then raises her hand to her mouth. "That scream - you didn't..."

You just raise your hand, still red with Legretta's blood, which is either dying or freezing. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, she's not dead, so your aim was a little off," Jade quips, and that takes the heat of everyone's quiet, half-horrified surprise off you, which you're grateful for.

"I didn't want to kill her," you say. "Just incapacitate her. She's not going to be using that arm again for some time."

Jade frowns, just a hair, but it's worth it for the way Luke and Tear both seem to lighten. Yes, not going for the fatal blow was the right decision, you think. 

(If Fon Masters weren't supposed to defend themselves, then the Daathic Artes wouldn't include combat artes.)

"Are you sure you're okay?" Anise says, starting to fuss. "You used a Daathic arte - and after that fall, too - "

"He didn't fall, he jumped," Luke points out.

"Asch is rubbing off on him," Guy agrees, and Anise pouts as the others smile. At the sound of his name, Asch glances over towards the rest of the group, and then, seemingly satisfied with his watch, comes back towards you.

He's gotten new clothes, you realize - more than just the winter clothes that the rest have pulled on (except Jade, who seems immune). And his hair is tied back in a ponytail behind his head, adding a bit of maturity to the look. All dark colors, in contrast with Luke's white coat no doubt, but you can't imagine anything else. 

He looks better, than when you saw him last. He looks more like the Asch of secret meetings in your rooms, of seafood stew and reports of bad news.

"...Welcome back," he says, and, unlike yours, the tiny smile he wears isn't by programming or reflex. If anything, it's the thing that Van couldn't train out of him.

And you hear all the unspoken things, the _I'm glad you're okay_ hidden in that smile, and you smile back.

**Author's Note:**

> Next, eventually - the answer to the question of "what the hell was everyone else doing all this time?" as told by Natalia in _Smelt and Flux_. Beyond that, the next major stories will be _Blood from the Fullers_ and _Feinting_ in some order, with the possibility of side-stories along the way.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to be invested in this ride!


End file.
